


These scars

by Zoe13



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Child Abuse, M/M, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-02
Updated: 2013-08-03
Packaged: 2017-12-22 04:11:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/908755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoe13/pseuds/Zoe13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles has scars from his past that he wants to hide. Isaac knows the signs, though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Parentheses indicate flashbacks because I'm on mobile and can't do italics. :/
> 
> I know I have too many stories, but this will probably only be two chapters long.

("I want to see mommy."

"You can't, Stiles," Uncle Simon told five-year-old Stiles impatiently. 

"Why not?" Stiles asked, dropping his toys and sitting dejectedly in the center of the playroom at his uncle's house.

"Because."

"Is she gonna be okay?"

"I don't know."

"But can't I see her?"

"No, Stiles! Now shut up! Fuck, does it ever stop talking?" He asked the ceiling. Stiles bit his lip, trying to hold back the tears.

"I'm s- sorry."

"Aw, don't be a wuss, brat." His uncle glared over his book and Stiles turned away. 

It hurt, but it was okay. His uncle didn't like him, but he'd go home soon. Daddy had promised. He'd go home and mommy and daddy would be there and they liked him.)  
__

Stiles brushed his hand over the photo, smiling faintly. It was his parents' wedding- Grandma and Grandpa Stilinski, Grandma Wilson, his parents, and his aunts and uncles. 

Maria, Shannon, and Jane. Brian, David, Ethan, and...

Simon. Uncle Simon. 

Stiles shoved the photo back in the folder, smile dropping.

"Stiles! I'm here!" Scott yelled up the stairs. 

"Come on up!" Stiles called, and Scott appeared in the doorway. 

"What's up?" Scott asked, flopping on Stiles' bed. Stiles shrugged. 

"Same old boredom. How about you?"

"Oh! Isaac-"

Stiles tuned him out. It was another Isaac story, one he'd probably already heard. He genuinely liked Isaac, but after he and Scott had started going out, he'd become the new Allison. He and Scott never actually talked anymore; Scott told him about Isaac and Stiles pretended to listen. 

He'd admit that he was a bit bitter about it. He and Scott had been through everything together. 

Well. Almost everything. 

"Stiles?" Scott interrupted as Stiles shivered, remembering.

"Hmm?" Stiles hummed absently.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I just..." Stiles sighed. "I was looking at a photo of my parents' wedding."

"Oh, Stiles, I'm sorry..." Scott jumped up and hugged him, warm against Stiles' cold skin. It felt nice, feeling like Scott was only his best friend again. He wasn't possessive, he really wasn't- Scott just didn't need him like he needed Scott and that was hard to think about.

"Thanks. I'm okay. What were you saying?" Stiles asked. Scott sat back down and resumed the story. Stiles sighed. 

Well, at least Scott was happy. He deserved it.  
__

("Was that daddy?" Stiles queried.

"Yes," Uncle Simon snapped. 

"What happened? Is mommy better yet?"

"No. She's dead."

"What?" Stiles couldn't wrap his mind around the concept. "Like Grandpa Wilson?"

"Yeah." His uncle turned away.

"But- mommy promised she'd get better!" Stiles cried, tears falling down his face. "She promised! She told me we'd be together forever..."

"Shut up."

"But mommy's dead!"

"I said shut up!" His uncle yelled, his hand connecting with the boy's face. Stiles fell to the floor and didn't bother getting up, trading his words for quiet sobs. "Now get out."

"Yes s-sir." Stiles pulled himself to his feet and stumbled to his room, crying silently. 

Mommy had promised but now she was gone.)  
__

"Hey mom. What's it like? I ask you that every time, I know, but I'm just...curious. I'm curious about everything." Stiles stared up at the ceiling, even though it was too dark to see. "Is it sad? People say heaven's the happiest place, but how can it be when the people you love aren't there?" He sighed. 

"I'm really tired, mom. I know a few people don't mind me but- well, they don't really need me either. I feel so clingy sometimes. Even when we were little you told me Scott and I would be friends forever. But you told me a lot of things that didn't end up true, I guess. It wasn't your fault- I suppose you didn't know. 

"I'm lost too. Not sure where to turn right now. No one really understands. I mean, Isaac might, but not everything. And he's Scott's new obsession right now. Well, I'm glad they're happy, you know? I guess I need to be less bitter and sarcastic. Do you think if you hadn't died and if I hadn't gone to stay with Uncle Simon, I wouldn't be so bitter? I guess it's not good to think about what ifs, though. 

"Anyway, that's it for tonight. I'm sorry I complain so much, there's just... and there I go again. Good night mom."  
__

("Stiles, come eat."

"I'm not hungry, Uncle Simon."

"Stiles Stilinski, do as you're told or I will come in there after you!"

Stiles ran out of the room and sat at the table, head bowed. 

"Sorry."

"You need to stop moping. It's not like you're even old enough to have known your mom. It's your dad that should be crushed. Some kids are just so pathetic." His uncle stabbed his food viciously. "Why did I get stuck with the brat?" He muttered. "I don't even know the rest of the family at all. The fucking black sheep and all that."

Stiles forced himself to eat some of the food, hoping it would appease his uncle. It didn't.

"Finish your food! I go through so much for you, and you won't even eat? Be grateful!"

"But I can't, Uncle Simon. I'm not hungry."

"Do as you're told!" His uncle yelled, hitting him again. Stiles fell, but he pulled himself up. 

His uncle hit him again. And again. Slaps turned to kicks until Stiles cried loudly. His uncle sent him to bed.)  
__

Stiles surveyed his work, but felt nothing as he looked at it. Sometimes he couldn't bring himself to stop once he'd started. 

He clenched his fists, watching the blood flow faster from each cut. There it was, the rush. The Adderall had nothing on the pain. 

From the other side of the bathroom door, he heard someone shuffle around. Quickly spraying the air, he wrapped up his arm, not even bothering to clean the blood as he didn't really have time. He sprayed his sleeve for good measure as he covered the gauze and flushed the toilet before walking into his room to see who was there. 

It was Isaac. The werewolf was sitting in his desk chair, but he stood when he saw him. 

"Please, feel free to sit," Stiles grinned. "You don't have to stand like I'm an eighteenth century woman."

"Right. Of course."

"So...why are you here?"

"I...uhm." Isaac shuffled awkwardly. "Well, I thought that, since Scott and I are going out and Scott's your best friend -practically your brother- we could do something together? Like...get to know each other more?"

Stiles smiled. "Sure! That's a great idea. What do you wanna do?"

"I haven't seen many shows- maybe we could watch one of your favorites? I know you talk about them all the time."

"Okay. Hm...how much Doctor Who have you seen?"

"None, actually," Isaac said. "What is it?"

"Oh dear. We need to educate you. Like, now." He grabbed his laptop and sat on his bed, motioning for Isaac to sit by him. "Come on. We're gonna watch some Doctor Who."

Isaac smiled and scooted next to him, on the bed. As he settled back, he stretched, his arm passing Stiles face. 

Stiles flinched, eyes closing and face turning away. Isaac dropped his hand, startled. There was silence for a moment. 

"Uhm, we'll start with Christopher Eccleston," Stiles continued finally in a shaky voice. Isaac frowned but nodded. 

"Okay."  
__

("What happened?"

"He fell off my old bike- I'm sorry John, I told him not to use it. He's okay. His arm's in a cast and it's a clean break."

"Do I need to come get him?" John asked worriedly. 

"No, it's okay."

"Can I talk to him?"

"Sure. Stiles! Your dad's on the phone!"

Stiles took the phone. "Hi daddy," he said quietly. 

"Hey Stiles. What happened, son?"

"I...fell off Uncle Simon's bike?" He looked to his uncle, who nodded. "Yeah. I fell. I'm sorry." Stiles winced as he moved his broken arm.

"Well, you take care of yourself. Tell Uncle Simon I'm covering the bill right now."

"Okay. Love you daddy."

"I love you too, son. Goodbye."

Stiles handed his uncle the phone. "He said he's covering the bill right now. Did I do okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. Go to bed, kid." His uncle took the phone and left. Stiles bit his trembling lip. He couldn't cry. Only girls cried.)  
__

Isaac knocked on Stiles' window before letting himself in. The other boy was in the bathroom, again.  
It had been several weeks since he first came to Stiles, and Stiles had suddenly struck him as acting...oddly. He didn't act different then usual, Isaac just saw a few things he hadn't before. Flinching at upraised hands, pained looks when their arms brushed or when his arms touched anything, really. He always seemed wary, as if waiting for shouts or a blow. 

And maybe he was. But Isaac saw how he and the sheriff interacted- it seemed impossible that the sheriff could ever deliberately hurt Stiles. Technically it was possible, but Isaac felt that he could safely rule it out. 

He frowned as the scent of copper hit him, before Stiles sprayed something in the bathroom. 

Isaac stood in front of Stiles as he stepped out of the bathroom. 

"Give me your arm."

Stiles looked genuinely taken aback. "What?"

"Let me see your arm."

"What? Why?"

"Stiles..." Isaac said, exasperated. "Show me."

"No. What are you even-" Isaac reached out and grasped his arm. Stiles winced. "Isaac! Stop!" 

It was too late. His sleeve was pushed up to his elbow, revealing the gauze. It was thick, but blood was leaking through it. 

Tears pricked at Isaac's eyes and he reached out trembling fingers, touching Stiles' arm lightly. Stiles was frozen. 

"Stiles..."

"I-" Stiles stopped, not knowing what to say. 

"Come on. We need to clean this," Isaac said shortly, not trusting his voice. Stiles followed him meekly into the bathroom. Isaac sat him on the stool there and quickly found the gauze and medical tape he used, grabbing a washcloth and wetting it. His long fingers reached for the tape and Stiles flinched back. 

"No, it's fine. I do this-"

"All the time?" Isaac asked hollowly. Stiles looked away, eyes full of guilt. 

"Yes."

"Well, they could still get infected." Isaac reached forward again and Stiles gave up, sitting still as he peeled the tape off and unwrapped the gauze. 

He felt sick at the sight, memories flooding his mind. Stiles' arm was still bleeding sluggishly from dozens of slits, and dozens more scars littered the remaining spots. From the dried and smeared blood, Isaac could tell that Stiles had heard him enter and hadn't bothered to clean his arm before wrapping it.

He grabbed the washcloth, wiping Stiles' arm.

"You need to stop."

"I figured you'd say that," Stiles said humorlously. Isaac flinched. 

"I understand, Stiles. Really. I did it too, before. My scars are all gone, healed by the bite, but I remember. And I remember stopping. I remember how it was hard, how I thought I couldn't do it. But then I remember how Derek helped me, even though he didn't understand. And I'm here and I do understand, so let me help you."

"I'm sorry," Stiles whispered.

"I'd say it's okay, but it's not," Isaac said. "It will be, though."

"I wish it would be," Stiles whispered.


	2. Chapter 2

(Hey daddy, when can I come home?" Stiles asked, watching his uncle warily. 

"I don't know, son. I'm sorry."

"But I miss you." His uncle rolled his eyes, glaring at the boy. "Sorry. I'll be good."

"What? I didn't say anything," his father said, confused. 

"Oh. I know. Anyway, Uncle Simon wants me to go. I love you, daddy."

"I love you too." Stiles handed the phone to his uncle. 

It had been two weeks, but he didn't know that. All he understood was that it had been a long, long time. The first bruises had faded away, but there were always new ones.

"Come here, Stiles," his uncle said. "I'm leaving, so you need to stay here. If you touch anything, there will be consequences."

"Yes sir."

"Now, you were bad earlier, remember?"

"Yes sir."

"What did you do?"

"I got in the way and you slipped."

"Exactly. Now, no snacking while I'm gone. Go off to bed and no dinner, understood?"

"But...you already p-punished me," Stiles said quietly, his eyes tearing up. His uncle's face twisted in sudden anger.

"I will decide when you're done being punished! Now stop stuttering or I will hit you again!"

"Yes sir," Stiles said almost inaudibly.

"What?"

"Yes sir."

"Alright, off to bed.")  
__

"Stiles? Are you alright?"

"What?" Stiles looked up to find the whole pack watching him curiously. Derek seemed worried, and Stiles rushed to answer him. "Oh! Uhm, yeah. Sorry. So you were out buying groceries-"

"Stiles, Boyd said that fifteen minutes ago."

"Oh. I'm sorry. I'm really stressed and tired right now. Just...continue."

"I finished. It was just a funny story." Boyd shifted uncomfortably. Stiles sighed. 

"I'm sorry guys," he said. Derek shook his head.

"Don't be. It's alright."

"Hey Stiles, why don't you take a nap up in my room?" Isaac suggested. 

"Really? That would be amazing." Stiles followed Isaac thankfully.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Isaac asked as they got upstairs. Stiles shook his head. 

"Not really. I'm just...well, extremely tired."

"Okay. I'll leave you to it. Remember, though, I'm here any time. Seriously."

"Thanks, Isaac." Stiles pulled off his shoes and curled up on Isaac's bed. 

"Sleep well," Isaac said, and left, shutting the door softly. Stiles huffed out a breath, resting his head on his folded arm and looking out the window.

"Hey mom," he said quietly. "How's it going? I'm...not good. I feel bad for putting Isaac through this. I really wanna tell him about Uncle Simon, but I'm worried all of his memories will come back and- he's just so happy right now, mom. I can't mess that up." He sighed again, rolling over.

"I'm too tired to talk right now, sorry. I miss you so much, mom."  
__

("I'm sorry! I didn't mean to, I promise, Uncle Simon! Please don't hurt me. My arm's still broken-" he cut himself off with a cry as his uncle grabbed his broken arm. Tears ran down his face and his uncle glared at him. 

"I don't care if you meant to or not, you little shit, you still broke the damn cup!"

Stiles flinched away from his uncle's face. He could smell the alcohol on his breath and it scared him.

"Please," he begged, "don't hurt me."

"You're such a baby!" His uncle sneered at him, grabbing his arm and shoving him onto the floor. As the first kick came, Stiles bit his arm to keep from crying out, knowing any sounds would only aggravate his uncle further. 

His uncle only stopped when there was a snap from Stiles' ankle. Stiles couldn't help but cry out, and his uncle picked him up, dragging him to the small pantry and shutting him in. Stiles reached for his leg, his small fingers clutching at his ankle as he cried.)  
__

"Hey Stiles, what's up?" Isaac greeted at the door. Stiles smiled weakly at him.

"Nothing. I just have a few books I found that might interest Derek."

Derek appeared in the doorway, quickly relieving Stiles of the large books and setting them on the table. 

"Hey, Stiles," he greeted, smiling. "Do you want to look at them with me?"

Stiles nodded and Isaac looked at the two, feeling a smile grow on his own face as they sat at the table and opened the first book. He leaned against the counter, watching the pair. Stiles was hunched over the book, tracing words with a slender finger as he pointed something out to Derek. Derek's chair was right by Stiles', and he was leaning into him, his gaze drifting away from the book and to Stiles' face more often than not.

Isaac outright grinned, feeling content.

"Do you want any hot cocoa?" He asked the pair. When he got a nod from Stiles, he turned to make it, glancing back every once in a while. 

When he had finished, Derek had gone to get something, and Stiles was studying the book alone. Isaac set the cup down, his hand passing by Stiles face. 

The reaction was instantaneous. Stiles flinched back just like he had before, head turned away from Isaac as if expecting him to hit him. Isaac felt frozen, wondering. 

He turned to see Derek standing in the doorway, his jaw clenched. Stiles quickly recovered himself and resumed reading, reaching for his hot cocoa like nothing had happened. 

"Thanks, Isaac," he said. 

"Any time," Isaac told him, but he wasn't talking about the cocoa.  
__

"Your daddy's coming to get you today," Uncle Simon told him. Stiles grinned. 

"Really?" His face fell again, though. "When is mommy's few-foon-"

"Funeral?"

"Yeah."

"Tomorrow. Your dad's coming this evening." 

"Thank you, Uncle Simon." Stiles limped across the room to get a puzzle. His uncle didn't answer. After he'd snapped Stiles' ankle, he'd been drunk almost non-stop and could barely remember a thing. He was trying not to think about when the boy's dad would come to pick him up.)  
__

Stiles sighed, closing his laptop. His fingers itched to hold his razor again.  
He didn't want to go back to it, but he felt as if he needed to. He felt like he'd go crazy if he didn't.

After a long internal battle, he stood and pulled out his box, taking it into the bathroom. He shut and locked the door behind him before sitting on the stool, pulling his box open and taking out one of the razors. The internal battle still raged until he made the first cut. Then all of the worry disappeared, trickling away with the red stream that appeared on his arm. He was just preparing for the fifth slit when he heard Isaac call his name from his bedroom. 

Shoving the razor into his box, he shoved his arm under the sink, cursing himself for not running the shower as an excuse for his lengthy time in the bathroom. The blood kept reappearing, and he gave up, fumbling with the gauze and taking it down. 

"Just a second, Isaac!" He called back, yanking down his sleeve. He folded the box inside a washcloth and exited the bathroom, walking toward the dresser and shoving it under some clothes. 

He turned to see Isaac standing there, arms crossed and expression pained. 

"Let me see your arm," Isaac said. Stiles forced a laugh. 

"Why?"

"Stiles," Isaac ground out, "show me."

Stiles rolled up his right sleeve, showing the old scars. Isaac didn't even blink. 

"The other sleeve."

"I-"

"I will do it for you, Stiles," Isaac threatened.

Stiles winced, giving up. He reached for his sleeve, sliding it over the fresh gauze. It was stained red already, and Isaac grabbed Stiles' hand and pulled him into the bathroom. Wordlessly, he sat him down and found a clean washcloth and the gauze.

"I'm sorry," Stiles said, finally. It sounded pathetic compared to the pain on Isaac's face, and Stiles knew Isaac was remembering when he'd done it. 

"I would rather you told me you'd cut again and cleaned this up then not cleaned it and shoved a bandage on it," Isaac told him. "Why do you refuse to open up? Why won't you talk about it?"

"I-I can't." Stiles flinched as he stuttered, ducking away from Isaac again before realizing he'd done it. He straightened up and Isaac sighed. 

"Stiles! Please let me help you. If not me, tell someone. Tell Derek, or-"

"Why would I tell Derek? He's too busy for the human," Stiles said bitterly.

"Whoever said that?" Isaac demanded. 

"No one," Stiles said. "It just is. No one has to. I'm the extra baggage in this."

Isaac sat down on the floor by him, carefully cleaning the cuts. "Why do you think that?"

"It's just what I'm like." Stiles winced as Isaac rubbed a cut. "I'm always the extra baggage, the person no one wants to deal with."

"Well, that's a load of shit because we need you. We really do. And we love having you around- Derek especially."

"Really?" Stiles looked up at him. 

"Really. We always need you and you're not in the way."

Stiles flinched at Isaac's last words, and Isaac frowned. 

"Why do you do that?" He asked finally. 

"Do what?"

"Flinch away when I say certain things or cringe when my hand goes near your face like you think I'm going to hit you."

"I'm just jumpy, sorry."

Isaac didn't believe him, but he let it drop. 

"Okay. Just...tell me when you're ready."

But he figured he knew anyway. He stood, walking out of the bathroom. Stiles followed him and sat on his bed.

"Where are your blades?"

"What?"

"I need to take them. Where are they?"

"No!" Stiles cried. "You can't- you can't just-"

"I have to." Isaac remembered the washcloth Stiles had shoved in his dresser and quickly found it, pulling the box out of it.

"No, Isaac, please! Give it back!"

"Stiles, you'll just do it again. I should have taken it earlier." Isaac shoved it into his pocket and Stiles blinked back tears. 

"Will you sit with me?" He finally asked in a quiet voice.

"Of course," Isaac told him, climbing onto the bed and sitting by him.  
__

("Simon! I'm early!" John Stilinski called, entering his youngest brother's house. There wasn't an answer and he frowned. Simon's car was parked out front, but maybe he'd gone on a walk with Stiles.

He walked further into the house, entering the kitchen. Something crunched under his feet and he froze before looking down. Two smashed beer bottles lay in pieces on the floor and-

Blood. There wasn't much, but John panicked. 

"Stiles!" He yelled, running through the livingroom and up the stairs, looking around. 

Suddenly he heard a cry, and he followed the sound into the guest bedroom. 

"What the HELL are you doing to my son!?" He cried, darting forward. Simon had a hand around Stiles' small arm and was in the middle of beating him down. John yanked Simon away, shoving him into the wall. Simon was too drunk to even seem to notice, and he slid down and sat on the ground.

John knelt by Stiles, picking him up gently. 

"Daddy?" Stiles croaked, and John's blood boiled at the finger-shaped bruises around his neck. There were bruises everywhere, really. The cast his right arm was in was battered and his face was bleeding, a piece of glass imbedded in one of the cuts. John pulled Stiles close carefully. 

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry! Why didn't you tell me?"

"Uncle Simon said he'd hurt me more if I did. And he was always listening."

Anger seized John again, but he felt some of it directed toward himself. "I'm so sorry, Stiles. Sit- sit here. I'm gonna call the police here."

"Don't stutter," Stiles said. "He gets angry."

"I don't give a shit," John said, forgetting to watch his language and yanking out his phone. In the corner, Simon groaned absently. John turned to keep an eye on him and Stiles began crying. 

"He's gonna be angry, daddy."

"Well, he can't do anything about it."

"But I was bad."

"What?"

"I left my toy out."

"So he beat you?" His father took a menacing step toward Simon but stopped when his call connected. He quickly explained the situation and hung up, kneeling by Stiles again. "No one's gonna hurt you again, Stiles. I promise."

"You can't promise that, daddy."

"No, I suppose I can't. But I will do anything to keep it from happening. I'm so sorry!"

"It's okay. That's what mommy always said. 'It's okay.'"

John broke down.)  
__

Stiles stirred in his sleep, crying out and making Isaac and Derek jump, something neither of the werewolves were used to. The pack meeting had ended over an hour ago and the rest of the pack had left, but they'd decided to let Stiles stay when he'd fallen asleep partway through. 

"Do you know what's wrong with him?" Derek asked finally.

Isaac sighed. "I think so. I know some. He just won't open up to me all the way and I don't want to push him."

"I'm really worried."

"Me too, Derek."

"No! Please! I'm sorry!" Stiles cried out, thrashing. Isaac felt Derek's heart rate pick up and the alpha started forward before pausing. He breathed deeply and then knelt by Stiles, reaching a hand out tentatively and touching his head. He brushed some of his hair back and Stiles stilled, his breath evening out as he slept. Isaac felt like an intruder as he watched Derek hum softly, combing his hand through Stiles' hair. Derek pulled away but Stiles grasped at his hand, still asleep and unconscious of what he was doing. Derek froze again and then relaxed. 

Isaac left quietly. Derek didn't notice.  
__

(Daddy? Am I gonna die?" Stiles asked in a small voice from the hospital bed. His father whirled around. 

"What makes you ask that, Stiles?"

"Because mommy died after she went here."

John felt tears prick at his eyes. "No, Stiles, you're not gonna die. I wish that bastard would though. I can't believe he's my brother-" he broke off. "Well, not anymore."

"Mr. Stilinski?" A doctor entered the room, flipping through a chart before looking up.

"That's me," John answered. The doctor sat down by him and smiled at Stiles. 

"How are you feeling?"

"It hurts."

"What hurts?"

"Everything," Stiles said, frowning. John flinched. 

"So how's he doing?" He asked the doctor.

"We had to rebreak and set his ankle," the doctor started. "It had healed wrong. Fortunately he'll fully recover from that. He has three cracked ribs that we've wrapped up, his arm had to be put in a new cast, his face has twenty stitches, and he has a lot of painful bruising and minor cuts that will take some time to heal. He's lucky he doesn't have any internal damage."

"Thank you," John managed after a moment. His poor son. He hadn't known Simon was like this. He'd always been a little rough around the edges, but he'd loved kids and John had trusted him to watch Stiles while he prepared for his wife's funeral. That was his fault.

"When can I go home?" Stiles asked. 

"I'd say in a few days," the doctor said, "but you'll have to be in bed for a while or you'll hurt your ankle again."

"Yes sir," Stiles said. He smiled at his dad, but John flinched at the bruised and cut face of his son, guilt pulling at him.)  
__

Isaac sat next to Stiles on Stiles' bed, staring at the book but not really reading it. With a sigh, he set it down. Stiles stretched, putting his own book down.

"How are things with Scott?" Stiles asked.

"Good," Isaac said. "He's been really busy, but we text a lot."

"I'm sorry," Stiles told Isaac. "Maybe you can spend more time together soon."

"We plan to in a few weeks. He's less busy then."

"Okay."

"All three of us should do something. I feel like I'm stealing your best friend."

"Don't feel guilty," Stiles waved it off. "He's just been busy."

"So how are you doing?" Isaac asked after a moment. Stiles sighed. 

"I-" he stopped. "Terrible. I keep remembering, even though it's been twelve years."

"Since what?"

"Oh." Stiles stopped. Isaac turned to face him. 

"What happened, Stiles?"

"When- when I was five, my mum got sick. I didn't understand it, but I knew everyone was worried for some reason. Then she went to the hospital. I visited her a lot, but she got weaker and weaker. I learned later that she had leukemia. My dad sent me to stay with my Uncle Simon when he got busy taking care of my mom." Stiles shuddered before breathing deeply. 

"My uncle was gruff at first, but it was okay. I tried to stay out of his way. Then one day, he told me that he'd gotten a call and my mom was dead. I was confused and so I asked about it. When I finally got the concept, I cried. My uncle didn't like that, though. And that's when it started."

"What started?" Isaac asked, although he figured he knew.

"My uncle started beating me. By the time my dad came for me, I had a broken arm, three cracked ribs, and a broken ankle that had to be re-set because I'd been forced to walk on it." Stiles stopped and ran a hand over his face. 

"I know it was twelve years ago and I feel pathetic. You had it so much worse and I-"

"Stiles. Stop it." Isaac laid a hand on his shoulder and Stiles stopped. "It doesn't matter who 'had it worse.' We both went through something horrible and that's all there is to it. I am so, so sorry you went through that and I'm glad you told me. It doesn't matter if it was twelve years ago. It can still hurt to remember that."

"I still remember everything he did...everything he said. And it hurts because it feels like it's still true."

"Look, Stiles, I don't know what he said, but I do know it wasn't true because you are a wonderful person, okay?" Isaac moved closer and wrapped his arms around Stiles. "It's okay. I'm always here for you."

"Thank you, Isaac."  
__

"Good afternoon, Stiles," Derek greeted. Stiles flashed him a small smile and entered the kitchen, sitting at the table. 

"Hi." Stiles sighed, running a hand over his face. "Isaac said I should tell you."

"Tell me what?" Derek asked, sitting next to him. Stiles sighed. 

"I'm a little screwed up."

"You're telling me this?" Derek asked, and Stiles laughed. 

"Yeah, I am. I, uhm..." he stopped, unsure of how to say it. "First I wanted to apologize for being so distant. Sometimes I get stuck in my memories, and I just...they're not good. My memories, that is. Twelve years ago, my uncle abused me pretty badly, and I'm still stuck on it." He ran a hand through his hair, and looked up at Derek. Derek looked pained, and the hand gripping the table was white-knuckled. 

"I'm sorry," he said softly. Stiles laughed weakly. 

"It's not your fault. I just wanted to explain. And there's one more thing." He shrugged his button up shirt off, leaving himself in short sleeves. Derek flinched at the sight of Stiles' arms. 

"Stiles, I-" he stopped. He looked so utterly pained, Stiles had to look away. He shut his eyes tightly, but a few tears leaked out.

Suddenly he felt Derek gently grasp his wrist, fingers tenderly running over each scar. Stiles looked down, watching the movement. 

"Don't, please don't," Derek said in the saddest, most caring voice Stiles had ever heard from him. Stiles looked up, his eyes meeting Derek's. He didn't know what gave him the courage, but he suddenly leaned in, his lips meeting Derek's softly. Derek grasped both of his hands, kissing him back firmly but gently, and Stiles smiled slightly, pulling away. 

"Don't be sad," he said softly, wiping a tear away from Derek's eye. "I won't anymore."


End file.
